Into The Mystic
by wildyak
Summary: Humans are making the first trip outside their solar system, but as he gets further from earth, our protagonist begins to see his comrades for what they are.


May 8th, 2136 A.D.  
We leave tomorrow. Everything is ready to go now so finally I can rest, if such a thing is possible the night before you leave earth forever. The idea that I'm actually going to do it seems to finally be creeping its way slowly into my mind. The furthest I've been from my house previously is Wyoming. And now, I realize, the majestic mountains that captured my imagination, soaring high above me, will soon be specks of dust, glistening with the light of the sun. But the grandiosity of these mountains transcends three dimensions, and into the fourth, Time. They have been here ever since humans arrived, and in that time have not shifted more than a couple feet. Their sturdy base has comforted man for tens of thousands of years. Their majestic peaks have inspired his Gods. I am leaving, I now realize, not only the eleven billion inhabitants with which I can relate, but also the world that has shaped them through evolution both physically and culturally.  
I now regret my decision to leave.

May 9th, 2136 A.D.  
Exiting the atmosphere went smoothly. No longer do they burn up a bunch of gas just to push the vessel far enough out. About the only thing they use gas for anymore is to make fake explosions for the vids. I never watched them much anyway. Nowadays they assemble the craft in orbit, then lower it down slowly, keeping it in a magnetic field. Its kind of like lowering it on a giant rubber-band. And then once the people are loaded on all you have to do is let it go.  
My ship holds 465 passengers. All are elite members of society, selectively chosen by NASA. Finding the people, however turned out to be the easy part. It was the organization that proved to be more labor intensive. Rank on this ship means rank for life. Your rank stayed with you on the surface. So naturally, in a group like this everyone wants to be the leader. This is one of the initial problems I saw with our mission. They had not chosen a single obedient worker. But being smarter than most around here, I knew enough to keep my mouth shut. I don't need to get involved in all that. Plant biologists have enough political power for me. Eventually a leader was chosen. His name is Captain Kilp. And like the figureheads carved into the ships of old, he has a pretty face, but has no say in where the ship is going. His face is the one plastered up on posters, and playing over and over again on the vids. Meanwhile a small group of people placed themselves  
carefully in positions throughout the staff that gave them the real control. I won't go into to detail, but I assure you they are the most sinister and soulless of the crew. They cunningly use their lack of principles to pull themselves to the top, whether it means pushing others down or brown-nosing their superiors. All these "heroic explorers" seem only to be motivated by fame. If this is the way Columbus and his crew lived, I have lost all respect for them as well.

May 10th, 2136 A.D.  
Space. Its not all its cracked up to be. In fact, its nothing it all. "That is the definition of space." says the ship doctor when I attempt to explain to him what's wrong with me. Last night and all through today the emptiness that surrounds us seems to have permeated my psyche. I'm physically sick too. "You're just homesick." laughed the doctor after my third puke session today. But I could see it in his eyes as well. He never really looked at me, just a couple of inches to the left.  
The coalition (that's what I now call the evil little group that controls my destiny) is starting to take physical control of the ship. As soon as we make the jump, our communication with earth will be limited to a couple of text messages per day (what is a day? The term has lost almost all meaning for me. There is only eternal night.), and then, I'm sure, they'll start their little chess game and slowly manipulate their way to the top. Maybe it's them that's making me sick.  
My work at the moment is very dull and repetitive. I'm organizing seeds, and planning out crop rotations. The biosphere for which I'm responsible will supply our base with food and oxygen. Also, I must use as much of the feces as possible to fertilize. If the perfect system is achieved, nothing is wasted. Such systems are hard to fashion even on earth. Early experiments were disastrous. But eventually a specific template biosphere was made and shown to work repeatedly. That is my guide. Of course, it has never been shown to work off of earth, so I'm apprehensive, and a little scared.

May (something)th, 2136 A.D.  
I could look at the date of my previous entry and use the date after that, but what's the point? There are no days out here. That calendar was for use on earth, a place to which I have no hope of return. I'm beginning to gain an understanding of how arbitrary the time we create really is. The only thing that seems constant anymore is the ships muffled buzzing. At first, I thought there must be a source, the lights, the computers or maybe even the engines. But after inspection I've realized it comes from everywhere. Nowhere is it louder than anywhere else. Maybe it's in my head.  
We've made the jump successfully and I'm more lonely than ever before. I'm more lonely here than I was on earth. At first I didn't think that would be possible, but I was wrong. Benvolio, the the ships companion cat, is my only friend. Sometimes when I curl up on my cot and try to drown out the buzzing with my imagination, he finds a spot next to me. The doctor says this is technically sleeping even though I never close my eyes. He says this so he can put in his report that everyone is all well and healthy, that way he can sleep at night, or at least give it a decent try. I have no hope of real sleep. The last time I slept was the first night in space, and even then it made me sick  
I've started growing the plants in the greenhouse. This way they can be ready and producing oxygen when we arrive. The work does little to quell my inner turmoil, however, and my sickness remains. I have begun to discuss my ideas with Benvolio. He seems to understand me better than anyone else on this crew.

Some meaningless point in time, 2136 A.D.  
We are close to our destination. I pass my time reading books from our ships electronic library. I read mostly history, and its a bittersweet experience. On one hand its far more interesting than watching plants grow, but it all refers back to earth. This deepens my sadness and regret. I also found myself laughing for the first time in space after I found out that the Santa Maria, one of Columbus's ships for which this vessel is named, crashed upon arrival in the Americas. How twistedly ironic it would be, I thought, if this ship crashed as well. No one really learns much history anymore. No one on this ship had learned enough to know the fate the Santa Maria or they wouldn't have named our ship after it. The people I live around are too concerned with making their own history to learn from others.  
Our destination, a small planet that remains unnamed, is to become the first permanent human colony further away from the earth than the moon. The designer of our base is now millions of miles away and can hardly comprehend how much we are relying on his plans to survive. The ships limited oxygen supply will run out. Quick construction will be imperative. All this hard work and risk of life brings up the question repeatedly in my head. Why? When I joined, of course, I had a reason. The perpetuation of mankind's existence seemed an honorable ideal to serve. And the only way to ensure such a thing was to spread out, cover every corner. That way when one bit blows up, there will still be all the others to keep us going. But now I am questioning the reasoning that seemed so clear to me before. Humans were not meant to leave the earth, and I'm beginning to think that extinction may be more desirable than any future where we become a virulent virus of the  
galaxy spreading uncontrollably. Who are we to decide when or when not we explode and cease to exist as a species?

4:00 am, sunset over the helix mountains, Guanahani  
...Or at least that's what I call it. They've given it some other useless name celebrating their ignorance. A day on Guanahani lasts only two-thirds that of a day on earth, so they've divided it up into only 16 hours. Their attempt to recreate the comforts and traditions of the earth is foolish and futile. I finally couldn't stand it any longer and told them this to their face. I was labeled crazy. They yelled at me and told me I almost killed us all. One day I had just stopped my work maintaining the plants. Now I am an outcast from their ridiculous hierarchy of command. As soon as I was freed from it my sickness went away. Now I live alone in the greenhouse, where beyond my glass jail the mountains sit in equal majesty to those of earth. I see now what no one else has seen. The true cause of my uneasiness was not my pining for home, In reality it was because I had seen my species for the infectious disease that it had become. And now all I can do  
is sit here In my glass bubble and watch it spread its evil.


End file.
